At first he thought it was cute, the way his girlfriend Myra
would say, every time she came over with her violin, "Hey, diddle, diddle,
it's Kat and her fiddle!"† Pretty
soon he started responding, "The cow jumped over the moon!" and she'd
clap her hands like a toddler as he sprang up from wherever he'd been sitting
and jump over whatever thing was lying on the floor at the time.

One day, she paused with an eyebrow raise after
"fiddle" and said, "Well?" three times when he didn't respond.† And all he said was, "Your name's not
even Kat."

01/02

I should just resign myself to the unassailable FACT that
there is no such thing as a pair of reading glasses that won't make me look
like I should not only be institutionalized but hidden in solitary confinement
with nothing for company but bugs that manage to find their way into the cell courtesy
of my daily gruel.† I do have a few
pair(s?) at home, but my cat agrees that there's no way in hell I should ever
be allowed to read even a fortune cookie fortune in the presence of any guests
if it means putting them on.

01/03

Wentworth J. Worthwent, the new guy in the office, will chuckle with a good-natured wink when four blue-shirted "bros" in the breakroom, in rapid succession, each thinking he or she is original, ask him if he knows his name is the same backward and forward. When he replies, "No, it's not quite a palindrome," they will look at each other and laugh in response and take a swig from the plastic gallon jugs of water they tote around the office, but only one will Goggle "palindrome" upon returning to his desk even though the other three had no clue either.

01/04

(Take2, oy)
Wentworth J. Worthwent, the new guy in the office, will chuckle with a good-natured wink when four blue-shirted "bros" in the breakroom, in rapid succession, each thinking he is original, ask him if he knows his name is the same backward and forward. When he replies, "No, it's not quite a palindrome," they will look at each other and laugh in response and take a swig from the plastic gallon jugs of water they tote around the office, but only one will Goggle "palindrome" upon returning to his cubicle even though the other three had no clue either.

01/05

Here, where I break the FOURTH WALL and address you, "dear readers":

Yesterday I corrected my January 3 post. And today I correct my January 4 post. Today I correct "Goggle" to "Google". I won't even pretend that the misspelling was intentional, to avoid, like, I dunno, copyright infringement or something. This is now like how on All My Children they had a department store called Lacy's. This not me calling Coca-Cola "Caco-Calo" to avoid paying enormous fees for the use of the name (not even a "thing", but whateverrrr).

Stay tuned until tomorrow, when perhaps I will correct today.

01/06

At least twice a week, my cat says, "Paws? I got 'em." Sometimes I tell her that no one asked. Other times I thank her for telling me, saying, "I keep forgetting, so thanks for the reminder."

Today she told me she's got paws, and I said, "I suppose that means you have legs too." She showed me how each paw has its own corresponding leg, and that the paw is attached to the end of the leg, "just like those things you have."

"You mean hands? Feet?" I say.

"Yes. That's it," she says. "Except not nearly as cute."

01/07

There is a special place in Hell for inconsiderate fucks
whose alarm clocks bleat incessantly on mornings they're not home to silence
them.† After listening to this nonsense
through the wall for way too long, I swap lounge-y pants for pajama bottoms,
shove my feet into snow boots, throw on a coat, and dash outside to tape a note
I've typed in a large font to the door of the building housing the offending
apartment.† Later I hesitate to scrap the
Word document without saving it, thinking, "I'll want proof!" and
then think, "Of what?" That I'm such a superheroine?†

01/08

His tells me that his cat, Twyla Carp, swallowed a
transistor radio in 1972 and hasnít been the same ever since.† I tell him that's highly unlikely because
there's no way his cat is 45-plus years old.†
He points at Twyla Carp, nods his head, says, "Hit it, honey,"
and when the cat opens her mouth, out comes the voice of Howard Cosell, broadcasting
a sporting event from days gone by.† His
mouth is smug as fuck under his too big beard.†
I say maybe she's just a good ventriloquist.† "But she knows nothing about
sports," he says.† "Explain
that."†

01/09

How many times this morning will I see my black coat hanging
on the back of the door out of the corner of my eye and think it's my mostly
black cat lounging atop the printer?† So
far, 9. †It's almost noon, so I'll say 11
total.

How many times will I eat a pink lady apple this week and consider
telling the person they remind me of that I think of him every time I eat one?† So far, 2.†
Number of apples remaining in the refrigerator, 3.† Thus, 5 total.† How many times I'll actually tell him, 0.

†

01/10

This morning I saw a photo of Neil Gaiman on Twitter and the
first thing I thought was, "Good god, man, get a haircut." I realize
this makes me sound like a dad or a guidance counselor or a dad who's a
guidance counselor, and I'm equal parts neither of these things, but really,
come on.† I don't know if the photo I saw
was old and your hair is more presentable now.†
You're a writer, and a good one I hear. I'm sure you can write a way to
climb into that photo and lop off that confused mess.

01/11

He's gonna stand in this uncomfortable pose as long as it
takes for someone to walk by, notice that not only are his socks colorful but mismatched
patterns, and to remark how nifty and fun and unique they are and what a
welcome sight, especially on a Monday morning when nobody wants to be anywhere,
especially the gym.† When his first
client shows up 15 minutes late and says nothing about his socks, even though
he swears she saw them, he feels foolish for having taken the time to roll his pants
"just so" and tells himself it's still early.

01/12

Occasionally it's fun to choose a substitute word for curse words to to shake things up a bit and throw people off the track. I already sometimes use POPPYCOCK instead of BULLSHIT, NINCOMPOOP instead of ASSHOLE, and HARRIDAN instead of BITCH. I haven't come up with anything for FUCK, but I don't want to think about it too hard because the substitution has to be organic and natural. Of course now that I said that, I will be subconsciously or consciously searching for one. Still, FUCK is such a catchall word that it will be difficult, if not fucking impossible.

01/13

Any time we had a class party in sixth grade, Susanna would sign up immediately to bring the plastic cups. I never wanted to bring them, but I wanted to beat her to the punch just so she wouldn't get to do it and might have to do something that required more brain power than going to McCrory's for a purchase as easy as paper towel and about as exciting. She was always so smug about it and so oddly proud, just as she was to recite the Pledge of Allegiance. How she ever became my friend is beyond me.

01/14

Patty's feeling rebellious. Last week she increased the paprika for her famous deviled eggs. This week she's adding more potatoes to the stew and decreasing the carrots.

Marianne from book club noticed the paprika and said, "Oh, that's spicy!" and wiped a nonexistent spice-induced tear with one hand while giving the thumbs-up with the other.

Patty daydreams about next Saturday, when she'll sneak in this stuff called "tofu" she's heard so much about.

01/15

I had told him to lose my number, but here he is, texting me after who knows how long, saying it's high time we got together and when are we going to make it happen. I consider not responding at all but don't want him to think the text never reached me, so I write back to remind him of the dinner date we'd set a couple of years ago, how I went to the restaurant and he wasn't there, and he says, oh yeah, I forgot about that. But still doesn't apologize. The exchange ends there. What a winner.

01/16

I've read more books in the past few weeks than in all of 2016. That both delights and horrifies me. I feel like my IQ has increased considerably because of it, and I'm confident that if I were to be tested today, it'd hover somewhere in the low double digits!

Although my aesthetic is more traditional book (softback for home, hardback if from library), I'm reading most of the books on my Kindle, which makes me feel like I should be on a monorail hovering (like my new IQ) just above the surface rather than the relatively klunky 1 train.

01/17

In a post in another month, I said I wouldn't be talking about a certain "President" here in 100 Words, and I'm going to be true to my word(s). Please let this entry serve, though, as a stand-in, a proxy, if you will (or even if you won't), for everything I would say about this so-called President, even though it could never be said in just 100 words, even if every one of those 100 words was an expletive arranged in an order where the first letter of every word would spell out a hidden message underscoring all of it.

01/18

It's midday and I'm invertebrate on E's sofa. She's sprawled so completely next to me that she appears to have sprouted extra limbs to drape over the back cushions. A bowl of popcorn, to which she's added special salt from The Meadows, a store in the West Village near her apartment, is between us. The black and white images on the TV screen are making us wish it were 1947, the year of the movie we're watching. That we both have the means, ability, and desire to do this midday during the week leaves us positively giddy and incredibly grateful.

01/19

The big bar of Theo's dark chocolate that I bought just in case I ever felt like making macaroons sometime is still in the cabinet, at least a month post-purchase. Every time I open the cabinet and it sees me, it asks if today's the day, and I tell it no, not today. It sighs and settles back in. Once it said, "You don't need all of me for the macaroons. Just cut open my wrapper and break off a piece of me," and then giggled to itself, saying, "You want a piece of me?" in its best DeNiro voice.

01/20

The problem with baking bread is that eventually it comes out of the oven and the aroma that had wafted from the kitchen to my desk, partially contained therein, hits me in the face full blast, along with a burst of heat, and I am stopped in my tracks by the kitchen counter staring down at what I've created like a teary-eyed mother of a newborn, and I am then compelled to cut a ragged slice with a big knife and put it in my mouth and chew and think, "Oh god, I'm eating this whole loaf today, arenít I."

01/21

It's no one's fault but my own that I didn't use the package of portabella mushrooms until after a week after I bought them and their smell made me question their viability. I'm responsible for the stomach issues that ensued the day after I roasted all of them and crammed them all into my mush-hole like a squirrel who's not willing to take the risk that there may not be acorns on the ground and has to go for broke with a sorry substitute. But that pain is nothing compared to the sadness I would have felt about wasting food.

01/22

The only words I've uttered to another member of my "new" gym is to the girl who asked if I was done with the treadmill, to whom I said, "Yes, I am!" I did not append the usual, "Thank you for asking!" because that would have approached conversation level communication and I didn't want to risk it. NO can do, no can do! I like the anonymity, the lack of engagement. I like to pretend I'm a very busy businesswoman who doesn't have a moment to spare. No one has to know I'm dawdling in Westside market after I'm done.

01/23

I
couldn't even make it through a month without burning something on the
stovetop.† Here it is, the 23rd, and I'm
scraping charred farro from the bottom of a vintage saucepan and cursing myself
for the neglect and stupidity.† I'm glad
I didn't "resolve" not to burn anything for the new year.

I'm
also glad I'm not on Facebook anymore, because if I were, I'd be compelled to thrill
my "fans" with this rousing report within minutes of its occurrence
instead of all of you here on 100 Words an hour or so after.

Facebook
begets that "urgency", you know?

†

01/24

Almost a month after Christmas, and curbside spiky green
carcasses are still appearing.† I pause
by a heap to examine a red bow and two ornamental pinecone clusters.† They're attached to a wreath.† For a few seconds, I touch them and see if
they are easily removed.† They are not,
and I am a bit relieved, because in the brief interim between seeing them and
wanting them, I've come to think of this as the same as stealing the jewelry off
a dead person, leaving the body looking even more vulnerable in its abandoned
state.† I apologize and move on.

†

01/25

I can't believe I've never read "Fahrenheit 451" before.† If I were still on Facebook, I'd be posting
an exclamatory update telling my fanz to read this incredible book that's been
out for 64 years, like a kid these days discovering ABBA and coming to me with
stars in his eyes, saying, "Oh my god, have you heard of this awesome band
called ABBA?"

I mean, really.† Duh.

But seriously.† This
book.† I pause to hug it to my chest.† Or at least hug the Kindle to my chest, in
reverence.† And to marvel breathlessly at
Bradbury's prescience and genius.

01/26

He asks if I want to accompany him to his house in Arizona for a week. I say that sounds like a splendid idea, that I could use a break from crazy world event stress and my regular routine. He "warns" me that the trip would include hikes. I smirk at the text, thinking, "Oh come on. You're a Jew too. We don't do that." The plan falls through due to his court dates, but we'll reschedule. I'm sure I can find a way to persuade him to meet my biodad, who lives out there too. They'd like each other.

01/27

We haven't seen each other since he left for Australia two months ago on a business venture. He texts from JFK to say he's back and wants to get together soon. He's got big, exciting news. I tell him I do, too: That I lopped off a bit of my hair and now it swings just above my shoulders. He texts, "But I like longer hair." I say it's not his call and that if I ever decide to grow it out again, I'll let him know. "Great. I'll see you then," he says. "Um, no you won't," I say.

01/28

"Yeah, and my name is Flower Corn Saperstein," I say.

He insists his name is Winkle Perry McSwain. He insists so vehemently that he almost spills his triple shot espresso. He licks rivulets off the side of the cup. He wipes a drop from his beard and says, "Now where were we?"

I tell him I was questioning his name's validity. He tells me his mother was fascinated by the Crayola 64 box as a kid and vowed to name her firstborn after her favorite color but not in a too obvious way.

All in all, a promising first date.

01/29

This morning I was overcome by an urge to sit up in bed and read one of the few unread books I've recently downloaded to my Kindle. So I sat up in bed and picked one and then had a strong desire to not only read it but to do so aloud, as if reading it to others and not just myself. So there was no quick, indecipherable mumbling, but measured, expressive recitation, much to my own amusement and the consternation and disgust of my cat. Later she thanked me for at least not doing it in an English accent.

01/30

Many years ago, when I had to make a phone call I didn't want to make, I would write out a sort of "script" on a yellow legal pad and read from it but in a way that I thought sounded like I was "off book". Nowadays I don't prepare at all, even though these calls still fill me with anxiety and make me want to wear a mask for the duration. The other day I called Whole Foods to complain about two packages of greens that had spoiled before their SELL BY date. It felt oddly like bad improv.

01/31

At long last, my credit cards are all paid off. The only thing left to pay off is my non-interest-bearing Care Credit balance of a few hundred dollars, and then I will be free, free, free. I suppose to people who make a kabillion dollars a year, or even a mere bajillion, this doesn't seem like such a great accomplishment, but when your income is more modest and you live in NYC and your cat pays for her portion of the rent with "having cute paws", it's enormous and worthy of a nice dinner for celebration. Paid for in cash.